One of my friends said to me the other day, “you seem like the type that has a wild streak in you.” I told him that I’m a lot more reserved than people think. I’m not one to walk on the wild side all that much, sans blacking out drunk at a New Year’s Eve party, skiing a double-black diamond ski slope, or walking through South Williamsburg at 3:30am.
Well, I’m all about clearing the air with my blog. So to prove to you how tame a person I really am, here is a list, in chronological order, of all of my brushes with the law.
October 1992: At 10 years old, my friends and I decided to bike into this wooded area in Cranston, Rhode Island, where I grew up. The cops followed us in their car, and we scattered after they used their P.A. system to tell us we were trespassing.
Result: no charges pressed, a good workout in getting the hell out of the woods on my bike.
August 1999: In the first of only two traffic stops in my life, I am pulled over for going 65mph in a 45mph zone on U.S. 23 in the small town of Dillard, Georgia.
Result: a $125 speeding ticket (most likely going to fund two signposts for a new “Welcome to Dillard” sign), an empty wallet for my entire first semester of college.
September 2002: The Ithaca College Police knock on my door and bust a get-together in my dorm room attended by a whopping total of four people. While we had been drinking wine all night, the cops searched my refrigerator to find two precious unopened 12-packs of Molson Canadian I had a friend buy for me earlier in the night.
Result: 24 very, very empty bottles of Molson, their contents poured into the bathroom sink by a nearly-sobbing Chris while the cops watched. To this day, it ranks as the most tragic squandering of alcohol I have ever witnessed.
March 2006: While moving my belongings back to New York from Burlington, Vermont, I am pulled over for going 48mph in a 30mph zone in Ticonderoga, New York in my mom’s minivan. I am already extremely embarassed that I am driving a minivan, and I am even more embarassed that my mother is in the passenger seat.
Result: a warning by the cop, who spared me a 4-hour drive full of apologies to my mom; a very slow, sobering drive through the Adirondacks.
See? I am not a risk-taker. The air has been cleared, and I hereby declare this entry adjourned.